


One Last Dream

by EmpressOfFire (Solataire)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: After it ended, Beautiful sadness, Bittersweet, But! Before the end credit scene!, Dread Wolf take me!...please?, Dreams, Elf of my dreams, F/M, Fade Tongue, Final farewells, Goodbye, Making up for missed Solas opportunities, Post-Game, Romance, Seriously., Somniari, Spoilers!, The Fade, how it should have ended, tragically beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3677172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solataire/pseuds/EmpressOfFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Otherwise known as, One Last Scene, wherein, possibly, I, you, and the Inquisitor may find some closure on the balcony, because Creators know the game gave us none]<br/>__<br/>If she was truly honest with herself, she had needed him with her. Near her. Not just in their stolen moments alone – those were precious and few and still made her skin prickle with goosebumps – but in battle. In counsel. In silence.<br/>“Inquisitor.”<br/>Alana very nearly fell out of her seat. Heart hammering against her chest, she stood to see a reed-thin figure silhouetted against the last of the light from outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Dream

**Author's Note:**

> The following short story takes place just during/after the victory party at Skyhold, once Corypheus has been defeated. As I finished my second playthrough of DAI, I remember hurrying around to talk to my companions at the party, not really paying attention to what they had to say. "Blah blah blah." Whatever, Viv, I don't care. This was because I KNEW in my heart that when I retired to my quarters as the game directed me to do, ma vhenan would be waiting. It was going to be poetic and beautiful and even if he only just said "Goodbye, vhenan," then at least I had some closure. But, alas, I was left to stare into the sun alone. The lonely Inquisitor. 
> 
> I think that the Solas romance was wonderful, but it certainly had many missed opportunities. Many gaps to be filled. But the end... ah, the end was one that I couldn't let go. Their story, HIS story, was tragic and beautiful and beautifully tragic and I felt that there needed to be some bit of finality to it that you couldn't get if you did not play through the romance with him. I didn't and don't seek to change anything about him or his intentions. I don't pretend to have any idea what he may be going to do next. But what if, what if... there had been one last dream?
> 
> ___

     “Goodnight, Your Worship.”

     “Maker watch over you, Inquisitor.”

     “Andraste preserve you, Lady Herald.”

     With a blasé wave in her well-wishers’ direction, Alana Lavellan made her way through Skyhold’s festivity-filled great hall. She paused near the door to her quarters, wearily and somewhat tipsily reaching for the handle. The stained glass windows above caught the setting sun and bathed that end of Skyhold in specks of colored light that danced over her throne. Her _throne._ Creators, that phrase was still odd to her.

     The tiny _chink chink_ of silverware on plates and the sounds of celebration swirled around the hall. She was distantly aware of Josephine fretting over an empty platter of cakes – as if there hadn’t been enough –and Leliana laughing at her. Alana stared at the seat of her gilded throne, idly twisting a stray lock of red hair around her finger. She soaked in the sounds of merriment and happiness as if trying to fill herself with something sorely missed.

     A sudden, booming laugh from Bull brought her ‘round to alertness. She became acutely aware that she was leaning on her door, gaping at nothing. She cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder.

     People were staring. 

     Her _friends_ were staring.

     Cassandra arched a delicate brow. Cullen stopped talking to cock his head in concern.

     _Fenedhis._ They were going to think the battle with Corypheus had scrambled her wits. She rolled her eyes, quirked her mouth into a smile, and shrugged. _I’m okay,_ that smile said. _Just tired._ The pair relaxed, bowed to her, and several others followed suit.

     She pushed open the door to her quarters and found herself alone for the first time in what felt like days. She hadn’t really minded all that happened following their victory, she thought as she ascended to her lofty rooms. The people were happy. A great evil was vanquished. _She_ was happy.

     Wasn’t she?

     “Of course you are, fool,” she said aloud as she flopped onto the chair beside the fire. “Not many people slay a would-be god and live to tell the tale.”

     She was talking to herself now. Maybe the fight _had_ addled her wits. Or perhaps it was the two…no, three cups of wine. That was Dorian’s doing, damnable drunken Tevinter.

     She narrowed her large, green eyes and stared into the sunset. A faint wind kissed the curtains at her windows, making them flutter.  There was an orange glow to the darkening room; a servant had lit the fire and for the first time she noticed a tea pot, glowing with runes to keep it warm, filled and resting on the end table. They continued to bring her the drink, though she had not drunk tea for some time now. A strange habit to pick up on, she knew.

     Of course she was happy, she decided. She was alive and she had won. They all had, together. She could take only part of the credit – the Inquisition was many people, not one. The past few days had been hectic and busy, but not bad. Varric had coaxed her into another game of Wicked Grace, and the Commander had at least managed to retain his clothing, if not his coin. Bull had again persuaded her to hit him with a stick, which, she had to admit, felt pretty good. She’d even returned to her room one evening to find a pot of tea and a frankly alarming novel resting next to it, which she thought was Cassandra’s idea of a gift. Or revenge. She wasn’t completely certain. She did flip through a few pages, though, before her ears began to burn and she tucked it away.

     If she had to guess, she might have said the others were attempting to keep her busy. Perhaps Leliana has casually noted to them her own observations. Very likely they had formed their own ideas. They were, of course, quite perceptive on their own. So why, then, despite days of constant meetings and planning, of congratulations and companionship, had she never felt so…alone?

     Alana pulled her knees to her chest and leaned into the armrest. That question had an answer she didn’t wish to dwell upon. But despite her best efforts, thoughts she’d been resisting began to creep into her mind. She’d set her mind to a million other tasks to avoid this one matter, and here in the silence of her dimly lit room it began to swell within her, a compressed ball of sadness, anger, betrayal, confusion, and resignation.

     _Solas._

Would she ever know where he had he gone? Would he come back? Would it matter if he did?

     She felt the answer to all of those questions was “no.” The idea made her feel a sadness that was almost sickening, and _that_ made her feel angry. At Solas. At herself. She was not some silly, smitten girl. She was the Inquisitor.

     But, if she was truly honest with herself, she had needed him with her. Near her. Not just in their stolen moments alone – those were precious and few and still made her skin prickle with goosebumps – but in battle. In counsel. In silence.

     “Inquisitor.”

     Alana very nearly fell out of her seat. Heart hammering against her chest, she stood to see a reed-thin figure silhouetted against the last of the light from outside.

     “ _Solas?”_

“I hope I did not startle you.” He moved quietly closer, though stopped himself before he came within reach. He gave a small, sad smile and spread his hands in a small gesture of…what? A shrug?

     “Creators,” Alana breathed, still trying to wrap her mind around the simple fact that he was there.  “How did you get in here without Leliana snatching you first? No, how did you get in here at all? My door is supposed to be locked…”

     “Ah, perhaps I have picked up a few tricks from Master Tethras.” A hint of a gleam shone in his eyes for half a moment, and was gone just as fast.

     Alana pressed her lips into a line and smoothed her leather breeches idly, watching him for a moment. She had been angry with him, and sad. Now she was not entirely certain she felt anything other than relief. “Why…” she swallowed. “Solas, why did you leave?”

     He did not answer right away, only stared at her as he did; like he was looking through her with his deep blue eyes. “Walk with me,” he said finally, and to her surprise he reached out and took her hand.

     He led her out onto the balcony, where the sun had almost vanished beneath a blanket of clouds. For a moment, Solas let his fingers trace hers, then he let go and leaned upon the rail. He stood silently for so long that Alana crossed her arms and said, “Well?”

     “Inquisitor?”

     Alana raised a brow. “Why did you leave?”

     “There was an important matter that called for my attention.”

     “More important than…the Inquisition?”

     Solas looked at her and smiled. “Corypheus was defeated. There was little more for you to do than celebrate your great victory.”

     “Little more than—” She felt heat rising in her cheeks and spreading to the tips of her ears. “Do you have any idea what tasks Josephine, Cassandra, and Leliana have dreamt up these past few days?”

     “I can imagine,” he said. “And doubtless you have risen to each task as marvelously as you did the battle against Corypheus. I know what you are capable of, vhenan, even if you do not always remember.”

     Alana sniffed. That was not the answer she had wanted – it was sincere, yes, but diplomatic. Still, buried within it he had called her “vhenan.” She did not think he even realized he had done so.

     “Then where did you go?” she asked. “Will you tell me that?”

     He sighed. “The story is not all that interesting. I would not bore you with its details.”

     Somehow Alana highly doubted the validity of this. She opened her mouth to argue, and Solas placed a long, slender finger upon her lips. He held it there for several more heartbeats than was necessary to quiet her before he dropped his hands and leaned again on the rail.

     “I did not come here to offer explanations,” he said.

     “No?” Alana stepped slightly closer and she, too, leaned upon the rail. “Then why _did_ you come if not to clear things up? ‘After Corypheus is defeated, all will become clear.’ That is what you said, is it not? What purpose could you have for breaking into my quarters?”

     Solas sighed. “I came,” he said, “to say goodbye.”

     He could not have surprised her more if he slapped her. She straightened, brow furrowed. “You came all the way here just to _leave_?” She felt blood rushing through her now. Fire and ice coursed through her, and something—that jumble of emotions—threatened to force its way out in the shape of a scream. She would not let that happen. She was the Inquisitor.

     The other mage watched her with a knowing frown upon his face. “It was not so very far to travel,” he said. “Not for the sake of a proper farewell.”

     “Dread Wolf ta—”

     “Stop.” He held up a hand. “I would not have angry words between us; not when they may be our last.”

     “Then what words would you have?”

     “Many I have already said.” He stood straight as well and stepped nearer to her than he had in some time. “Your spirit astounds me, more than you will ever know, and you have taught me as much or more than ever I could have hoped to teach you. You have done the People proud, and will continue to do so.”

     Alana listened, unsure of exactly what to say. This _felt_ like a goodbye, and though she had thought she had been owed one – she found she did not truly want it. But returning to say goodbye?

     She sighed. “Solas, you’re not ma—”          

     “I will keep you in my mind, vhenan, and in my heart, whatever lies ahead for you and for me.”

     Then, before she could object, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and kissed her. It was deep and passionate. It was a last kiss; it held an air of finality and pang of longing, of not wanting to let go. And yet it reminded her so clearly of their first kiss that something tickled the edges of her memory.

     When he finally pulled away, he blinked, frowned, and said, “Ir abelas, emma lath.”

     Alana nodded. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she whispered, then added, “Go. If you must.”

     He did not move to leave the balcony. Instead, he said, “I told you that everything we had was real.”

     “I know.”

     “This.” He motioned to the air, the room behind them. “Is not.”

     “What?” Alana wrinkled her brow.

     “Wake up, Inquisitor.” He smiled sadly again and gave a curt nod.

     “I—”

     “Wake up.”

     Alana’s eyes flew open and she sat up, breathing hard on the couch in front of the fire. The sun had not yet set. There was no one in the room. She was alone.

     Slowly, she stood and made her way out to the balcony. Final rays of pink light touched the terrace and railing. The wind made the stray curls of her hair dance. If she listened hard she could still hear faint sounds of celebration from elsewhere on the grounds.

     For a small moment she wondered what she would do now – without Solas, slightly empty and newly alone.

     But she knew.

     She had done her People proud. She would continue to do so.

     She was the Inquisitor.


End file.
